What I wouldn't give to see the silhouette of a star emblazened on the glass of my window-sill. Even a dead one, dare I say, will do? At least, for now? Another little defeat.
Panklush now has her own room. Not just a room. A full apartment. It is not a big one—a 10' X 12' room, a kitchen, a bathroom, a closet, which in Panklush's mind, could pass for a very small room.
If you yearn the brown-black of the coffee-beads wild enough, chances are, you would also learn to trace the outlines of the curse-words which wrap my silence. Eventually.
